


take me higher

by onekingdomonce



Series: Pallas & Lazar [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Language Barrier, M/M, Post-Kings Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekingdomonce/pseuds/onekingdomonce
Summary: These days, Lazar found himself in constant frustration over his utter lack of Akielon, scrabbling for the few phrases he had somehow managed to pick up over the years. He didn’t even require fluency, really. Something as simple as,can I suck your cock? would be more than enough.





	take me higher

**Author's Note:**

> i posted this a while ago on tumblr and decided to post it here as well bc pallas and lazar are the best thing to happen to me and i need them on my ao3.  
> title is from rude boy by rihanna. NO REGRETS.

As a man of low birth who had not come from the greatest of backgrounds, Lazar had not been given many options. His life had been rather simple and set out for him from the start: a mediocre schooling and service as a mercenary soldier. It had never been an issue for Lazar, never having expected to rise through the ranks until he found himself fighting for his prince. 

The margins of Lazar’s education had been just fine, his limited knowledge of any other language never causing a problem. He acquired a decent amount of Vaskian slang that served him well enough in the few brothels he had frequented when he had been in search of women, and Lazar rarely found himself regretful for his lack of ability in anything else, certainly not the language from across the sea. 

These days, Lazar found himself in constant frustration over his utter lack of Akielon, scrabbling for the few phrases he had somehow managed to pick up over the years. He didn’t even require fluency, really. Something as simple as, _can I suck your cock_? would be more than enough. 

It was a cruel twist of misfortune, honestly. The amount of things the two of them could have done in the time they knew each other that they were missing out on purely because neither of them could communicate past hand gestures -Lazar’s admittedly a bit more crude- had stopped being amusing long ago. As time went, Lazar was beginning to seriously consider simply puling the Akielon aside and dropping to his knees.

“Have you still not pursued him?” Rochert asked beside him, his eyes across the dining hall as well, eyeing the way Pallas was eating from his plate as he spoke to the man beside him. The Veretian and Akielon soldiers had taken to eating together in one of the palace’s halls, though there was still a distinct separation in their seating. 

Lazar lifted the mug of wine to his lips, swishing the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. “That proves a little difficult when I don’t speak Akielon.” 

“Just ask Damen to translate,” Rochert said, finding it just as odd as Lazar to replace the man they had drank with around the fire each night with the king of an enemy kingdom. Or, the old enemy. It was anybody’s guess what he and the prince were doing at this point.

“I tried,” Lazar said seriously. “When I was guarding his sickroom. The prince threatened to have me flayed.”

Rochert snorted as he took a draught from his own wine. “I knew they were fucking.”

“Can you blame him?” Lazar asked.

“Which one?” Rochert asked, to which Lazar laughed, bumping their mugs together before he turned his eyes back to Pallas, his gaze already trained on Lazar. 

 

If yesterday had been unamusing, today was infuriating. Lazar didn’t even want a courtship, one that required extensive care and dedication. He just wanted to fuck Pallas. Or have Pallas fuck him, he wasn’t particularly picky.

Lazar had put a considerable amount of effort into making his intentions clear without the usage of words. He had whistled the first time he had seen his muscled thighs in that blessed scrap of cloth they called clothing. He had displayed his very sincere admiration for his imitation of how the physician Paschal had ridden a horse. He had even extended his blanket for them to share on the floor at the inn at Mellos, though Pallas had been awake and gone in the morning before he could roll over and let him feel his admiration for him. 

During that day’s training, Lazar had made straight for Pallas and thrown a sword at him at a dangerous speed that he knew would be intercepted, pointing towards the sawdust like he was some mute imbecile. Pallas nodded with enthusiasm before following Lazar to the center, and their sparring session had been about as long and vigorous as their fucking could be. By the end of it Lazar was tired and sweating and moments away from finding the prince and begging him to help translate if he deemed Damen too unwell to help a man desperately in need.

“I,” Lazar said, the world most likely universal in all languages. Pallas nodded, his eyes careful on Lazar’s lips. Lazar pointed to Pallas, eliciting another nod. 

Lazar rammed his hands together in a rather forceful gesture, but the nodding of Pallas’ head slowly turned to a shake, brows pinched together. 

Lazar dragged a hand down his face before looking around the training arena, spotting two Veretian men that were not even remotely discreet about the fact that they were bedding each other. He pointed to them multiple times, and At Pallas’ subsequent nod, he motioned between the two of them just as frantically. 

He watched as initial understanding faded away into confusion as Pallas looked between the two men and Lazar, scratching his head before letting out a long string of Akielon words that most likely did not translate to _yes, I would love to abandon the prince’s very strict training regime and go find a spot where he can take turns fucking each other._

Lazar waved a hand in exasperation, leaving Pallas to stand there with an apologetic smile and a lift of his hands.

 

“I would have abandoned this long ago,” Lazar said to Jord later than night. “If I didn’t have visual conformation of what his ass is like.”

Jord lips quirked as he leaned back, lying across from Lazar in the barracks. “It must be quite a blow to your ego that you can’t manage to bed one person.”

Lazar looked at him flatly. “I can bed anyone I like. The lack of a language can cause a bit of a prelude issue.”

Jord looked at him oddly. “Akielon,” he said.

“Yes,” Lazar said, slowly. “And Veretian.”

After a stretch of silence, “He is an aristocrat.” 

“And?” Lazar muttered, on his back with his arms behind his head.

“Most aristocrats are bilingual,” Jord said.

The speed with which Lazar pushed himself up and off the bunk was a testament to how crazed he was. “He speaks Veretian?”

“To a degree, I would assume.” His lips were twisted in amusement again.

Lazar was out of there and walking through the dimly lit, narrow halls before Jord could speak again, going straight for the section where the Akielon soldiers were stationed, pointing immediately to Pallas when he saw him. He pointed to the door before saying, “now,’ in Veretian.

Lazar only had to wait outside in the yard for a few seconds before he heard footsteps crunching against the gravel, turning to see Pallas standing in front of him. His brow was raised.

“You speak my language?” Lazar said, as calmly as he could manage. For a man who had been resigned to taking himself in his hand for the past few weeks, he thought he did a rather good job.

Pallas smiled at him, the same one he had shot Lazar after they had attempted to communicate and Lazar left him in vexation. “A small,” he said, which Lazar understood as his attempted translation of a little.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Lazar asked.

Pallas lifted a shoulder. “Was fun,” he said. “You were fun.”

Lazar briefly considered throttling him, but he could do that the next time they sparred together, or at least after he finally kissed him. “We could have been having much more fun,” he said. “Do you know what I want to do to you?”

“Yes,” Pallas said. His voice was deeper than Lazar’s, his accent roughening the Veretian words. “But tell me.’

Lazar began to give him a detailed, thorough description of everything he had been fantasizing about, throwing in a few hand motions just to simplify things further. Halfway through his explanation, Pallas began to blink before moving his hands in a downward gesture. “Slow,” he said.

Lazar nodded. “We could start with slow.”

Pallas looked at him for a moment before his lips began to spread, and Lazar thought, _fuck language barriers._

**Author's Note:**

> [ @laurent-ofvere](http://laurent-ofvere.tumblr.com)   
> 


End file.
